


some running wave

by bornuntotrouble



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Unsubtle Interview Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22077043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bornuntotrouble/pseuds/bornuntotrouble
Summary: “I have to tell him that I want to suck his dick,” Tom told his reflection gravely, focusing on the dark circles of his pupils as if they were Jake’s own. He knew that practicing would help, and he’d often been told that if he offered a concept to the universe, the universe would provide it for him.
Relationships: Jake Gyllenhaal/Tom Holland
Comments: 16
Kudos: 239





	some running wave

**Author's Note:**

> _and you came on strong like some running wave  
>  and your beauty left me broke and hungry  
> left me begging to the birds for a bone or an offering  
> left me saying nothin', nothin', like I always say_

Tom had made a terrible mistake. 

“I’ve made a terrible mistake,” he whispered to nobody in particular. Between press junkets he had excused himself and retreated to a mostly-quiet stairwell in the corner of the building that he and several of his costars currently occupied, and he was currently perched on the stairs with his head in his hands, staring blankly through the blurry net of his fingers as soft footsteps descended the stairs. He knew without looking who had joined him, and he heard a soft, tired sigh before a set of arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders and the gentle scent of Zendaya’s perfume wrapped him up in a protective cocoon of support.

“I think you’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I don’t think you’re making the mistake you think you made. Does that make sense?”

Zendaya’s head now rested against his. Her presence, ever-calming, vaguely tipped the scale of Tom’s mood in the direction of ‘not wanting to evaporate off the face of the earth’, but even a tender embrace from a good friend couldn’t alleviate the sickening sense of dread that had settled over him in the room three floors up.

“Do you think I’m wasting my time, trying to get him to react?” he asked quietly. “I mean, am I reading his signals right? Is he even _sending_ signals? Do you think he’s saying these things on purpose, or am I just being…”

He trailed off with a helpless noise. Zendaya’s arms tightened around him.

“I don’t think you’re wasting your time,” she replied gently. Her tone suggested he was being an absolute idiot for even asking, but she was too sympathetic to say so. “I think you’re close to breaking through, okay? Have you _seen_ how he was looking at you up there? I bet he’s up there thinking about your beautiful, hard-earned, compact little body right this second. He wants you, okay? If there’s anything I know in this world, it’s that this man wants to get up close and personal with your d—”

Tom laughed quietly and dropped his hands, glancing at Zendaya out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t, he’s probably listening.”

“So what?” she asked with a grin. “If he is, maybe he’ll finally make a move. Hey, if you’re back there, Tom’s pretty single and he’s waiting for someone to b—”

“Shhh—”

“—break his back,” Zendaya finished loudly, forming a cone with her hands that she aimed upward through the upward spiral of the staircase. “Sexually!” 

Tom ducked his head, laughing, his face already heating up beneath his fingers. He was fairly certain that he would die of embarrassment if the message reached its intended recipient, but he was also certain that he would inevitably die of embarrassment once he realized that every single carefully-planned touch, look, comment, quirk of a brow, swipe of a tongue, or any other word that he had taken from his body’s language vocabulary and shoved out into the world wasn’t enough to spur their intended recipient into action... or at least make him pause for long enough to think that he was being flirted with. That was all Tom really wanted. Even knowing that the thought of fucking him had crossed Jake Gyllenhaal’s mind, inadvertently or not, would be satisfying enough.

But it would be more satisfying if he just fucking _did it_.

Zendaya giggled with him, squeezing her arms companionably around him with a grunt of effort, and Tom felt his mood slide even further along toward ‘slightly less depressed about the state of his non-existent sex life’.

“God,” he said quietly, scrubbing his hands over his face as if it would make the blush disappear faster. “I just want to spend one night with him, you know? Just a few hours. _One_ hour would even be fine.”

“I wouldn’t settle for less, unless you think it’ll only take, like, twenty minutes for you to herniate a disc with him.”

Tom made a frustrated sound and nodded slowly. She was right. He shouldn’t settle for less. He should aim high, and try to take a parachute with him in the event of a catastrophic failure. 

He’d get Jake’s dick. He’d just need to work for it.

“Honestly, I think I’d only need ten,” Tom breathed after a moment, and Zendaya laughed again, loud and bright, the sound echoing up and down the stairs until all Tom felt was her fantastically infectious optimism.

•

Jake was starting to think that he was the target of some long-running cruel joke.

He didn’t know precisely who was in on it, but he had his suspicions about the core perpetrators: Tom, primarily, but also Zendaya and the other Jacob. Maybe Watts. Possibly Jackson. He knew that there was something going on that was just beyond the veil of his knowledge, and while he didn’t consider himself a conspiracy theorist when it came to the activities of his coworkers, he also could not ignore the fact that there had been no point whatsoever between auditioning for the movie and touring to promote it—yes, the entire span of time from start to finish, and it had only gotten worse now that the film was out—where he had not found it suspicious that everyone was a little _too_ friendly.

The problem wasn’t that it unnerved him, being out of the loop like this. Everyone was very easy to work with, and he enjoyed feeling like he had just inserted his gear into a well-oiled machine without interrupting its natural clockwork pace. The problem was that he was absolutely certain that whatever this inside joke was, it involved him. The problem was that Tom was coming on to him like a running ocean wave, and Jake had no choice but to let his attention wash off and drain away. The problem was that Tom was treating him like a piece of particularly succulent meat, eyeing him in the gym and in costume and in interviews and in public, in _public_ , like Jake was something that he wanted to sink his teeth into.

The problem was that Jake loved the idea of being devoured.

It felt incredibly vain. It felt ridiculous. He was used to people looking at him, flirting with him, but he wasn’t used to not knowing whether he was allowed to flirt back, or whether he was even being invited to. He wasn’t used to having to rein himself in, keep himself from holding Tom’s hand for too long, keep his mouth from brushing against Tom’s ear, or keep his fingers from allowing that wicked tongue to explore the space between them.

He wasn’t used to wanting someone this badly.

He sat in the same room as Tom, day after day, one repetitive question period after another, and he stared at Tom’s face because he simply wouldn’t allow himself to stare at anything else: not Tom’s forearms, not his thighs wrapped in well-fitting jeans or dress pants that hugged all the right places, not his delicate hands when he gestured exuberantly… and certainly not at the small, surprised grin that always slid across his face when he noticed that Jake was looking. 

Tom always looked like that, like he was startled that Jake had noticed him in the first place. That was part of the thrill. He always looked so pleased to be discovered, and it was precisely the sort of low-key, unabashed flirting that Jake would normally have acted upon, or that normally would have preceded someone approaching himself. It was also precisely the sort of unabashed flirting that Jake couldn’t distinguish from a long-running cruel joke.

He hoped that it wasn’t. He hoped that one day the punchline would be revealed and, whatever the joke might be, that Tom would still grant Jake the freedom to explore those arms and those thighs and those hands and that small, surprised smile on his mouth.

But until that day came, he knew that his only option was retaliation.

“No, this is the plot of the movie,” Tom was telling the last remaining journalist of the day, holding up the heavy flesh ball that was his hand and Tom’s together, fingers intertwined and a little sweaty. “Spider-Man shows up and meets Mysterio, and he’s like ‘hey, Mister, sorry, but I can’t save the world because I’m on a school trip!’ and Mysterio says—”

“‘Hey, I skipped school when I was your age, kid! Why don’t you come with me and we’ll save the world—’”

“‘Save the world together’, yeah,” Tom finished, pitching his voice to match the terrible impression that Tom had chimed in with. He shook their hands once for the interviewer to see. “And then we eloped, and fun fact, you can literally see the wedding ring in the movie.”

“Yeah, you can see it, it’s right on his finger,” Jake agreed. He dropped Tom’s hand and pointed at the camera that was watching them from the corner with its beady red eye. “A wedding ring. Look for it. Look because I told you to. Know the truth.”

It occurred to Jake, as the interviewer’s laughter died down and another question followed on the tail of their incredibly serious and spoiler-free answer, that he had been so preoccupied with the feeling of Tom’s fingers between his that he hadn’t thought to silence him, not even once.

•

Tom had to make a move, and fast.

“I have to make a move, and fast,” he announced to the presently-empty hotel room, pacing it like a nervous wreck psyching himself up for some life-changing decision. Which he wasn’t.

Or was.

“He obviously isn’t going to do it, so I have to.” He turned, paced back in front of the bed. “I have to take the first step. I have to show him I’m interested and let him make his choice.” Turn. “I have to give him the option to decide if he wants me or not. If he does, great. And if he doesn’t...”

Tom paused at the nearest window and stared into it. It was a dark and rainy night, as befitting a situation as dire as this, and all he could see in the glass was the rain spattering on the glass and the semi-translucent reflection of his own face. His expression was one of grim determination, and it made him feel a little better in the way that giving pep talks in a bathroom mirror often helped.

“I have to tell him that I want to suck his dick,” he told his reflection gravely, focusing on the dark circles of his pupils as if they were Jake’s own. He knew that practicing would help, and he’d often been told that if he offered a concept to the universe, the universe would provide it for him. “‘I want to suck your dick.’ Easy, easy stuff. I want to suck his dick. I want to put it in my mouth. I want him to hold my head down until I can’t breathe and drown me with his c—”

Tom shot upright at the sound of the doorknob turning, spinning in place so quickly that he nearly tripped over his own feet. The door was just opening, and Tom managed to arrange himself in a very casual position against the window as a familiar head popped in.

“Ground control to Major Tom?”

“—Um,” Tom said a little too shrilly. “Yes! Jake, hello, why are you... here in my bedroom?”

Too stiff. Too transparent. He’d barely stopped himself from hiding his hands behind his back, like a child trying to sneak off with a forbidden toy.

Fucking amateur.

Jake wrinkled his nose, eyeing Tom with thinly-veiled amusement. “I wanted to see if you were coming to dinner.”

Tom wished he were coming.

“Yes,” he said, acknowledging neither the cold sweat he’d just broken out in nor the broken sentences he was currently stammering out. “Yes. I will be coming. I am currently on my way.”

What on earth was he even rehearsing for, if this was how easily he could be reduced to an incoherent babble?

Jake looked at him for a very long moment with narrowed eyes. Tom sweated a bit more profusely. The gap between the door widened by a close-to-imperceptible amount.

“Are you, uh… you good, man?”

“I’m great! Thank you. For asking. I’m just–I’m coming. Right now. Why don’t you go on ahead, walk on down the hall, and I will be with you in just a minute.”

He was not great. Obviously.

Jake was still staring at him.

“All right,” he said slowly, eyeing Tom and the room and then Tom again with an incredible amount of suspicion. “I’ll see you in a minute. Don’t make me wait, okay? I’ve been looking forward to a delicious meal all day and I’m not gonna let you keep me from it much longer.”

He locked eyes with Tom and slowly withdrew his head until at last he was gone and the door was closed. Jesus Christ. Tom took a steadying breath and sagged against the window and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He wasn’t going to survive like this. Not with Jake lobbing the worst ever double entendres at him like that.

He was ready to play fastball, and it was his time to tee up, or whatever the metaphor was. All he knew was that the worst case scenario was a strike-out, and he didn’t intend to let that happen.

•

Jake stood outside the door with his fingers still curled around the handle, unable to shake the feeling that he’d just been played again.

The smartest course of action would be to walk away. It would be so easy to do. So easy to walk away from Tom, who’d stood there like a deer in the headlights and repeated _I’m coming_ like he was trying to initiate the leading conversation in a low-budget porn parody, and had clearly expected that Jake wouldn’t question his incredibly odd behaviour.

And despite it all, despite that wide-eyed, shucks-mister stammering act, he was still so infuriatingly attractive that it made Jake’s blood boil.

He gripped the handle tighter and turned it again, pushing the door open wide enough to fit his body through. Tom was already across the room, his upper half obscured by the lid of the suitcase that sat open on the bed, and he jolted upright as the door clicked shut with an expression that suggested he hadn’t been prepared at all for unannounced visitors.

And clearly, Jake thought, he really, truly wasn’t. The shirt he’d just been wearing was crumpled in a careless heap next to the suitcase, and as lightning flashed outside the window near the bed it highlighted the lean, muscular lines of Tom’s bare arms and shoulders against the rain-beaten glass.

“Jake,” Tom said, freezing in place with his hands on his suitcase. The lid fell and revealed that he wasn’t wearing pants, either. “What are you…?”

“I know what you’re doing,” Jake said. Thunder rumbled ominously beyond the window, and Jake took it as a sign to step forward, pointedly keeping his eyes on Tom’s face and not on whatever was happening below his waist. “This weird game you keep playing, whatever it is? I’ve noticed it, okay, and I’ve gotta say–Tom, I love you, I do, but you’re driving me crazy, man. You’re killing me. I can’t…”

It only took a millisecond for Jake’s gaze to slip from his face, and while he knew that Tom would easily forgive a slip like that, the damage had already been done. He knew now that Tom wasn’t naked, not completely, and in a way he was thankful for the presence of Tom’s boxers; but Jake had heard one story too many about the things Tom had been forced to wear under his clothing since he first put on that skin-tight Spidey suit, and he found himself thinking of it now, the thought of Tom in a thin strip of fabric just wide enough to contain his genitals coming unbidden to Jake’s mind in the most serious moment of his life.

He looked up as the latch on Tom’s suitcase snapped shut.

“Jake, I need you to—”

“No.”

“—fuck me.”

Tom stared at Jake. Jake stared at Tom.

They were usually so good at communicating.

Jake tilted his head. Another flash of lightning illuminated Tom from behind, and Jake was able to think of him as a petite marble statue instead of a man in a thong. The thought wasn’t particularly helpful, but it made it easier for him to keep a straight face, and it was certainly better than asking for clarification about what Tom had just said and being terribly mistaken about it. “Wait, hold on. You’re getting dressed for dinner, but you’re _don’t_ want me to leave?”

“No, I’m… Jake, I’m not getting dressed for dinner,” Tom said, holding Jake’s gaze as he slowly pushed his boxers down over his hips, “and I’m not telling you to leave. I am, however, telling you to fuck me.”

•

As the next rumble of thunder gently shook the floor beneath them, Jake’s hand shot backward and slammed against the door. He fumbled along the side without looking away from Tom and finally slid the lock into place with a surprising amount of dexterity.

“Oh,” Jake said, looking every bit as surprised as Tom had expected him to. “In that case, yes.”

Tom hadn’t realized how hard he was breathing. It hadn’t been a strenuous task to close his suitcase or shove his underwear down, but it took a tremendous amount of effort to keep himself from leaping out the window and into a bolt of lightning.

“What?”

“I said yes,” Jake said. His hand seemed to teleport from the lock to his belt, and Tom swallowed hard as Jake began to unfasten it. “You’re telling me and I’m saying yes. I will fuck you.”

Tom gripped the edge of his suitcase. With the same Herculean strength gifted to any mortal in a moment of need, he pulled it off the bed and sent it clattering halfway across the floor, and he was on the bed as Jake was crossing the room, striding toward him with a terrifying look of determination in his eyes.

The rest was an unstoppable cascade of events. It started with Jake climbing onto the bed and seemed to end with Tom pinned face-down against the mattress, but somewhere in between those equally unexpected moments Tom remembered struggling to get Jake’s belt the rest of the way off, a heavy cock in his hand, the heat of Jake’s mouth against his skin, and revealing the lube that he had hidden rather optimistically beneath a pile of his own clothing, which was apparently unexpected enough to make Jake whisper, “Oh, that’s a bonus.”

Then Tom was face-down, pushed into the mattress by a single broad hand that petted down the small of his back and immobilized completely by a single impatient and wonderfully talented finger.

The scale of his mood had tipped far beyond elation and had begun to rocket beyond the stratosphere of ‘Tom’s best-ever moods on the planet of his happiest place’. He needed to sure Jake knew about it immediately.

“I am incredibly hard,” he whispered, arching his back so that his hips rolled against Jake’s hand, “and–and—”

And that was as far as he got, because Jake’s other hand had moved from his back and was now underneath him and he was absolutely, undoubtedly in heaven now.

It didn’t feel like this would be an encounter in which he was to be fucked in the most glorious manner by Jake Gyllenhaal and his assuredly perfect cock. It felt more like—and, presently, was—an encounter in which Tom was being jerked off with such expertise and fingered with such precision that he was quite sure he would—

“No no no no no,” he whispered hurriedly, squirming against the hand that was currently kneading his balls and getting a good idea of the shape of everything Jake couldn’t presently see, “not this, not yet, I’m gonna—”

“You’re gonna come?” Jake whispered back, and it sounded a little bit manic, not like an accusation but like the thought of that happening so soon had maybe not occurred to him yet.

“Yes!” Tom hissed. He was trying to be quiet, and the thunder was kind of helping drown him out, but he had two of Jake’s beautiful, beautiful fingers inside his body, two fingers that he had previously only had around his mouth, sort of maybe against his tongue because he simply hadn’t been able to help himself, he never could with Jake, and oh, god, he wanted so badly—

“Then fucking come, holy shit,” Jake breathed. He wasn’t being gentle with his hands anymore. He squeezed Tom’s cock. Just the once.

Tom had no choice but to follow orders.

•

It was the most unbelievable thing Jake had ever seen. Tom buried his face in a pillow and shuddered on command, muffling a few expletives that got lost beneath the noise of the gale outside the window and then, after a few contractions that would have measured on a seismic monitor, went slack, and Jake realized that he hadn’t even done anything that he wouldn’t do to himself on a regular Tuesday evening.

“Fuck,” he said, unable to keep the awe from seeping into his voice. It sort of felt like Tom’s orgasm was beginning to subside, but before he could remove his fingers Tom’s hand was around his wrist in an iron grip, keeping him in place with surprising strength. “Are you…?”

“Don’t move,” Tom grunted.

Jake tried the other hand. It slid out from beneath Tom with ease, smearing come over his belly and hip. He wiped it on the duvet, because he couldn’t do any more damage that Tom hadn’t already done.

“I thought you wanted me to fuck…?”

“Yeah,” Tom whispered, pulling Jake’s hand against him for emphasis. “Fuck. Fuck me. Please.”

Jake looked down at his fingers and wet his lips. He was having a hard enough time thinking straight as it was, still reeling from his newfound ability to make Tom come from the power of suggestion alone. There was no way he was going to be able to last more than a few minutes if he managed to stick his dick in or around Tom’s body, he knew that for sure.

But he also knew that this couldn’t have been a coincidence.

“Is this what you were trying to do this whole time? Trick me into getting so worked up that I’d cater to your… weird, kinky whims?”

Tom turned his head and watched Jake out of the corner of his eye. His cheeks were red, and it was breathtaking.

“Kind of,” he admitted, looking precisely as vulnerable and hungry as Jake would expect from a man who had just come and still seemed to want to be penetrated into an early grave. “Is it working?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “Yeah, kind of.”

He slid his sticky hand over Tom’s back, admiring the perky curve of his ass and the still-red patch where Jake had bit into it earlier. He’d really sort of blacked out the minute he hit the bed. Most of what he remembered involved feeling an immense satisfaction at the way Tom’s mouth had dropped open when he finally got his pants off, and the way Tom’s fingers had skimmed over his chest and abdomen, like a priest admiring some holy relic.

“So you’re gonna fuck me?”

“Can I have my hand back?”

“Not if you’re gonna take them out,” Tom said. “I’ve worked too hard to get here and I can’t let you take this away from me.”

“What is this, a villain speech? Goddamn, just hold still.”

Fortunately, Tom didn’t have quite enough leverage (or strength, post-orgasm, thank god) to keep him in place, and after a moment Jake was in possession of his fingers once more. He carefully pushed Tom back into place on the bed and draped himself over his back with a sigh, but Tom didn’t stop squirming until Jake’s cock was nestled securely between his ass cheeks. It was charming, too, in a weird sort of way. They’d spent a lot of time hugging, but they’d never been quite this close.

“Better?”

He shifted a little, pressing himself up against Tom’s hips, and he heard Tom gasp softly against the pillow. “Yeah… yeah. Are you gonna put it in?”

Jake rolled his hips against Tom’s again, sliding his cock along the slick groove of his ass, and groaned against Tom’s ear. He’d literally had dreams about this moment. His cock ached, trapped between them, and he wanted nothing more than to fulfill Tom’s request… but his questions still hadn’t been answered, and as Tom tried to arch against him Jake pushed himself up onto his elbows, narrowed his eyes, and asked: “Wait. Are you gonna stop flirting with me if I do?”

He desperately hoped the answer would be no. It would be a nightmare if this was all leading here, to one single successful hookup and one single successful hookup only. Jake had never thought about what would happen if Tom stopped flirting with him. The thought had simply never crossed his mind, and he was alarmed that it chose to do so now, at the very moment where Jake’s only decision was how, precisely, he wished to go about fucking Tom Holland into a cock-induced coma.

“No,” Tom said quietly, “I don’t think I am.”

Jake nuzzled into the messy back of Tom’s hair to hide his relieved sigh and ensured that the rumble of thunder muffled the rattle of the bedframe on his next thrust.

•

Tom was dating Jake Gyllenhaal now. At least, he assumed he was. God, he really hoped he was.

In the three days following Their First, Tom had found himself bent over, held up, pinned against, and most importantly, fucked on every surface that didn’t have a set of eyes immediately nearby it. Just last night he’d been pressed up against the glass shower door—the outside, not the inside, they weren’t desperate enough to risk slipping—with Jake’s hands underneath his ass and his ass spread and Jake’s thick cock slamming into him, making his legs feel like jelly when they were supposed to be keeping him upright and in place. This morning it had been on the bed again, only Tom had been up on his knees this time and his ass had been in the air and Jake had stood on the floor and fucked him until he was drooling into the duvet.

If anyone (Zendaya) noticed that he was walking a bit gingerly after, or if they wished to know precisely why he spent so much time stretching before sitting down for another day of press and squirming in his seat throughout, they didn’t mention it.

That didn’t stop Jake from doing it again. And again.

“You’re looking stiff,” he whispered in Tom’s ear in passing. He was looking unreasonably good today, just like he did every day, and he breezed on by as Tom strolled leisurely down a hallway that still had people in it. “Must’ve been a long, hard night for you. Maybe you should sleep in a different position.”

Tom positively beamed at him, unwilling to give him a win in a public space; when Jake turned back and winked and then slid out of sight into a room at the end of the hallway, Tom dropped his head to his phone again, returning his attention to a very important conversation with someone far more important than his definitely-now-a-boyfriend.

**I know he has something planned for tonight. I am d y i n g**

Zendaya’s response was a great deal of ha-ha-ha text laughter, mainly aimed at the chafing that had been plaguing Tom’s thighs for days on end, but Tom knew she was also amused by the fact that he was starting to think he would actually need to take a break from being fucked within an inch of his life on a regular basis. But he wasn’t complaining. Jake had not changed anything about his interactions with Tom, which confirmed many of Tom’s suspicions about the vibes he’d been getting every time Jake had not-so-subtly looked at his ass, but now Tom knew that their comfortable and flirtatious volleying wouldn’t end in a furious masturbation session at the end of the day. Their easy rapport, their light and good-natured jabs, their compliments and their complementing wouldn’t leave them lying awake at night wondering what if, what if. It wouldn’t end in one-sided pining, or shattered expectations, or a lifetime of regret over not acting when the opportunity presented itself.

Whatever they had, new and reciprocal and electric as it was, wouldn’t end at all.


End file.
